Stupid Cupid, YU fic for Valentine's Day. Read the warnings! Options

[Feral Phoenix]

Please stop spamming my story topic with your argument, 'k? *sigh* Sturm, you hate EVERYTHING I write, so why even read it?

I'm almost done with the next chapter. I'll post it as soon as it's done... or post the link if I get this all up on FF.Net before then.

Heh... Kylier can't cook worth crap... *laughs*

[Dr Strum]

Please stop spamming my story topic with your argument,

I am not spamming; people attack my points and I have to defend them. If I can't stand by my accusations, what are they worth?

Sturm, you hate EVERYTHING I write,

You know this how?

[Feral Phoenix]

*sigh* If you must argue, do it in the channel or something? Then you're still standing by your arguments and fighting to your heart's content.

Sturm, you hate EVERYTHING I write,

You know this how?

Because you slam everything I write for crack, you hate my pairings, my plot, spoilers, etc. etc. for everything I post. :<

You have an opinion too, hun, and you like having it heard, but then these end up being giant bashing threads and we all end up yelled at by Mari. So... :<

This post has been edited by Feral Phoenix: Feb 14 2007, 04:11 PM

[Dr Strum]

If you must argue, do it in the channel or something?

Nobody willing to argue with me visits the channel.

fighting to your heart's content.

I don't want to fight.

Because you slam everything I write for crack, you hate my pairings, my plot, spoilers, etc. etc. for everything I post.

Criticism = hatred now?

[Ryu2]

fighting to your heart's content.

I don't want to fight.

lol are you sure you really dont wanna fight? Because it seems to me like you do.

By the way Sturm have you ever said anything about a fanfic that isnt criticism?

This post has been edited by Ryu2: Feb 15 2007, 01:57 AM

[Dr Strum]

lol are you sure you really dont wanna fight? Because it seems to me like you do.

What one infers from another's actions is not always the truth.

By the way Sturm have you ever said anything about a fanfic that isnt criticism?

Yes. But do I really need to? If I complain about a few things, and never say "story sucked," then doesn't that imply I enjoyed it, or, at least, that I didn't hate it?

[Marionette]

I don't check YU posts because I have not finished the game, I should. I know.

With that said, I don't see anything wrong with Sturm criticizing fanfiction. It's a part of life for an author, especially if some of their facts aren't checked. I do believe, though, that if something is left ambiguous in a story an author is free to expand on it with their own interpretations of the scenes and actions.

Polite, thoughtful discussion in fanfiction is possible. Don't attack each other personally.

[Feral Phoenix]

Okay, next chapter going up now.

---------------------------------------------------------

Lady Rosary Esmeralda of the White Rose was pissed.

She was getting really annoyed with people always insinuating that she was too mean to everyone around her. It wasn’t her fault if people couldn’t take a little teasing—they needed to stop taking everything so personally all the time. She didn’t deserve to be made out as some kind of evil person just because she had a sense of humor.

Therefore, Rosary was not a happy camper in the least.

And, of course, her first action upon leaving the company of those who hinted at such nonsense about her was to go out in search of her favorite target so she could relieve her frustrations.

Roughly seven minutes ago, Roswell Branthese of the Black Rose had been lounging in a plush chair in Castle Karona’s study, reading an obscenely thick book and basically minding his own business. It had taken Rosary about two of those seven minutes to get him in the mood she liked him in best.

That was to say, he was now every bit as bitchy, defensive, flustered, and irritable as Rosary herself.

Rosary resisted the urge to smirk. It was always such a stress-reliever to shove her own troubles in the face of her eternally annoying cousin.

Roswell was two years older than her and a few inches taller, always robed in black and blue-green with the crest of his house pinned at his breast. His pale face was flushed with anger, his clear turquoise eyes were narrowed, his long and silky ash-brown hair was disheveled, and he was all but vibrating with sheer fury. Rosary had heard many girls whisper that Roswell was handsome and charming and kind, and when out of his hearing, she did admit that he was very good-looking, but she still preferred it when he was flustered, out of sorts, and trembling with the urge to whip out a weapon and start a real fight.

“I hate you,” the two of them squalled in unison as the other occupants of the room got well out of their way—they’d probably all heard of what the Lord and Lady of Verlaine were capable of when vexed.

“Why can’t you ever just leave well enough alone?” Roswell demanded, red-faced and indignant. “What is wrong with you that you always have to be at the center of some kind of contention? All you ever do is cause trouble—can’t you see that everyone around you is sick of it?!”

“A fine thing for you to say,” was Rosary’s retort as she tossed her hair and looked down her nose at Roswell with a derisive sniff. “You’ve been the source of everyone’s trouble since day one! But you’re too closed off in your own little world to even acknowledge that fact! Perfect little Roswell, who always has to come out on top of everyone else—you’re so arrogant, and of course you just go ahead and gloss right over the fact that you need more babysitting than anyone else in the Royal Army!”

“It’s a miracle that we’re even able to open up negotiations with Bronquia after everything you did during the war,” Roswell shouted, stabbing an accusatory finger in Rosary’s direction. “All those times you disobeyed orders, all those times you compromised our objectives—just because you had to satisfy your petty pride! Damn it, Rosary, what is going on with you?! You’ve changed so much! It’s as if you do all these things just because you know they hurt and endanger everyone around you—as if you’ve turned into someone cruel and cold who gets off on other people’s pain!”

Okay, that does it. Something popped in Rosary’s chest and her vision briefly flashed red. She was sick of everyone saying things like that about her. An ugly wave of hatred surged through her body, and before she could stop to think, she was yelling right back. “I endangered our objectives?! I carried my weight! I did what was necessary! It was better than all those times we had to cut our plans short just to rescue you! In Verlaine, in Paltina and Lost Aries and Ishnad and Flarewerk and even on Ancardia, everyone had to go running to save you because you were so weak! You were always making Yggdra worry and all that time I just wished we could leave you damn well behind! All those times when you nearly got killed, I wished you’d just stayed home instead of being such a burden! You’re so weak, you disgust me! What I really should’ve done back then, in Verlaine—I should’ve just let you die out there, since it was your own fault you let the Black Cavalry take your Ankh so easily! And that way I still would’ve had mine! I wish you’d just died out there! You’d be a lot more use to us dead than you would—”

And then she noticed the look on Roswell’s face, and caught herself, staring wide-eyed and silent, a little shocked that she’d let her worst thoughts all out at him at once like that.

He was standing there with such an expression of unguarded hurt, with all the color draining out of his face and his eyes blank with shock. For a few moments, he just looked so bewildered, so pained, that even Rosary began to regret what had just come out of her mouth. Then his eyes darkened, and his expression tightened, making him look for a second like a willful child suppressing tears—and he clenched his fists and brushed roughly past Rosary, sweeping silently out of the room.

I… I can’t believe I said that… Rosary stared after him. Did I… I think maybe this time I went too far…

Roswell…

With a start, Rosary realized that there were still people in the room, staring at her out of slightly nervous eyes. Whirling around irritably, she attempted to regain a bit of her composure. “Wh-what are you all staring at?! Hmph!!”

Crossing her arms, she stomped out of the study, flush-faced and secretly worried.

- - -

Kylier stood poised on the threshold, her entire body taut with the tension she felt, her hands balled into fists and a trickle of sweat running down the side of her face.

It’s no big deal, she tried to tell herself. You’re going to have to move forward sooner or later, right? This is for Milanor! So stop acting like a baby and get going!

Still, it was easier said than done.

Kylier had only felt like this once before in all her life—she’d had the same motivation and nearly the same fear then, and the results had been painful and had taken a long time to deal with. It was silly of her—this had nowhere near the weight, and the two situations were completely incomparable—but she couldn’t help but think of that day.

It had taken her a long, long time to wrestle around her suspicion, dislike, and jealousy towards Yggdra so that she could realize that the girl who was now one of her closest friends had truly not known what she was getting into when she’d decided to invade and, in effect, raze most of Bronquia. She’d seen the results of the Royal Army’s battles—villages in ruins, fields stained permanently red with blood, shellshocked families grieving for their lost loved ones—and her revulsion and horror had made her want to turn back. If not for the painstakingly arranged fresh graves she’d seen at every battlefield—obviously made with care by Yggdra, Milanor, and their companions—she would have lost the willpower to keep going. But she had—and it had been lucky for all of them that she’d decided to.

Kylier had arrived at the Imperial capital city, Flarewerk, to see that the Royal Army’s planned siege hadn’t been going too well. Yggdra and her troops had all run smack into the impenetrable Arc of Triumph that protected the city gates, and by the time Kylier got there, they were barely holding together. A furious, grief-stricken, and obviously desperate Gulcasa was ordering his elite troops forward, and the Imperial bombardier was blasting away at Yggdra’s forces with a magical artifact she’d later learned was one of the contentious Ankhs that had caused the chaotic civil war in Verlaine. The Royal Army had just about abandoned all attempts to get through the gate and was trying to hold a defensive formation around the seriously wounded Roswell, who had nearly killed himself using his own power to cause the other Ankh to implode.

There had only been one thing for Kylier to do, and so she’d gone ahead and done it—she’d attacked and destroyed the Ankh that was left, blowing a big hole in the gate and killing almost everyone around her. She’d been hurt pretty badly, and her poor faithful griffon, Al, had lost his life in the attack, but she’d done it for Milanor, and so she’d had few regrets.

But she’d been scared and jittery and unwilling as hell to actually go do what had to be done.

It was just plain shameful that she felt the exact same way about entering the kitchen.

I can do this—really, I can!

Kylier took a deep breath and stepped forward, unsuccessfully trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach.

Exactly what was it about this place that made it so damn intimidating? Kylier looked around, biting her lip. Castle Karona’s kitchen was state-of-the-art; many of the people who lived here, including Russell, enjoyed cooking a lot and made sure that they had everything they needed to play around with food to their hearts’ content. All the countertops were shiny marble, and from every wall hung a series of wooden and metal pots, pans, and various utensils whose names and purposes Kylier couldn’t begin to guess at, since she had never seen them once in her life.

I am so screwed.

Nevertheless, Kylier reminded herself that this was for Milanor, and ventured with shrinking steps up to the counter, fishing a wadded-up ball of paper out of her pocket.

“Ummm… let’s see. I need cocoa and sugar and flour and salt,” she said to herself, and headed for a wide double door she hoped was the pantry and not some weird storehouse of scary foreign cooking things. “And butter, and eggs. Why the hell do I need eggs anyway? I can’t crack eggs worth shit… and obviously I need a bowl to put it in and then a tray to bake it on.” Kylier moaned, but opened the doors and dug around for what looked like the things she needed. “…Okay, I think this is all it.”

Dumping her finds onto the counter, Kylier squinted at her set of scribbled instructions. “Melt butter, then add one pint cocoa, one cup each sugar and flour, salt to taste…” She frowned. “How much bigger is a pint than a cup? …Oh well. I guess I’ll just put in some of each and see what happens.” Biting her lip and hoping this wasn’t bad, Kylier dropped the half-melted stick of butter into her bowl, then shook brown and white powder from the three different bags she had on top of it in what she thought approximated pints and cups.

“Salt to taste… well… I don’t even know why you’d put salt in chocolate, but whatever.”

Kylier scooped out a fistful of salt and sprinkled it into the mix as well.

“Now the eggs.” Biting her lip, Kylier picked one up and timidly tapped it against the counter. Upon inspecting it, she saw that there wasn’t even the slightest crack in the shell.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you? Aren’t eggs supposed to be fragile? Crack, already.” She hit it two more times with no results, then let the temper get the better of her and hit it hard.

The egg exploded all over the counter, fragments of shell nipping Kylier’s palm as the yolk and white oozed out between her fingers.

“Ewwwww!”

Kylier dove for the trashcan, shaking the gooey mess off as best she could, then opted for the sink instead. Under the running water, the scratches the eggshells had left started to sting.

“Ow! Gaaah, jeez, I hate this!”

After wiping the counter down with a cloth, Kylier eyed the remaining eggs distrustfully.

“Grrr… I’ll get you yet!”

This time, Kylier was more careful, and managed to open hairline cracks along the next two eggs so that she could slowly push the halves apart and drizzle the insides into the contents of her bowl. On the third and final egg, however, she pushed too quickly, and the shell collapsed with a crunch, sending egg squirting all over the bowl with little pieces of shell going with it.

“Uh-oh.”

After cleaning off her hands again, Kylier looked down at the bowl and sweatdropped. “There’s no way I can get all of those…”

She paused for a moment, then shook her head.

“But then, won’t they just break or something when I stir it, or melt or whatever when I cook it? …Besides, the way Milanor eats, he won’t even notice if there are little pieces of shell in there. I think.”

Even uneasier than before, Kylier shook the bowl a little to settle its contents, then started stirring the contents laboriously with a wooden spoon. After a few minutes, she glanced at the goo she had produced, made a face, and scraped it into the pan she’d gotten out.

“This really better work,” Kylier said to herself, and slid the pan of brown goo into the stove. After closing the door, she turned the dial to what she believed to be a reasonable temperature, sat down, and put her head in her hands as she watched warily. She didn’t entirely trust her concoction not to explode as soon as it started to heat up.

However, when a few minutes went by without chocolate spattering all over the inside of the oven, Kylier relaxed a little and pulled one of the few books she actually liked—“A Griffon Breeder’s Training Manual”—so that she could entertain herself while she waited.

She’d just made it to chapter three when the distinct smell of burning began to fill the room.

“Ack! What the hell—?!”

Leaping up, Kylier turned the oven dial back down and yanked the door open. Instantly, a gray cloud of smoke rose from its interior, rising up to spread throughout the room, carrying along with it the awful smell of burnt chocolate.

As Kylier stood and stared, frustrated and disbelieving, there was a knock at the side of the open door. “Kylier, are you in h—ah, ye gods…”

Kylier turned to see that Nessiah was standing at the other side of the room, pulling back from the smoke and covering a cough. “Agh… Ness…? Why—?”

“Your friends sent me to look for you,” he told her, raising his forearm to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve. “Ugh… they want to know if you want to come join them for dinner or—” He was cut off by another storm of coughing.

Kylier sweatdropped. “Sorry! I’ll, uh, I’ll open a window or something!”

Even after she’d pried both windows open and pushed them as wide as they would go, Nessiah was still coughing. “What are—ugh—what are you trying to…?”

“I keep trying to make things for Milanor, but…” Kylier carefully slipped on oven mitts and pulled out the pan, sending another big cloud of smoke wafting lazily through the room. Her would-be chocolate was crinkled, burnt at the edges, lumpy, and discolored. “I… don’t know why this keeps happening to me…”

Across the room, Nessiah winced. “Ky—agh… can we just… just go outside… please… this smoke is hurting my eyes…”

Kylier let out a wail of mixed anguish and frustration, made for the door, and pulled Nessiah along with her, making sure they were safely into the middle of the corridor before she stopped. “I’m soooooorrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyy!”

“Don’t worry about it—ow.” Nessiah sighed. “Just… would you mind checking, to see that they haven’t…?” He gestured to the interlocked plates of ensorcelled metal that covered the upper half of his face helplessly, making the links of his chains jangle.

“Sure,” Kylier said with an automatic grimace, and stepped towards him, carefully unfastening the first third and pushing his bangs out of the way to look at the ugly, twisted scar that was all that remained of the injury that had blinded him.

Kylier and Nessiah’s relationship was a very strange one. The two of them hadn’t even met until the huge confrontation on the sunken island of Ancardia, and many members of the Royal and Imperial Armies still weren’t happy with what had taken place there, but even though Nessiah had reawakened the Royal Army’s own dead soldiers to stand in their way and even tried to control her for a short time, she found that she just couldn’t hate him. Those few minutes of intense connection between them had laid his soul as bare to her as hers had been to him, and the only thing Kylier had been able to feel for him was pity. No matter their crime, nobody ever deserved to suffer the kind of torment that most of Nessiah’s life had been.

Milanor and the others had no particular love for Nessiah—and had made that very clear by replying to his manipulation of their dead by dealing him a crushing defeat in battle. If Nessiah wasn’t bound by these very chains that caused him so much pain, that would most definitely have been the end for him—he’d died wretchedly at the steps of the very temple his real body lay bound in, given the mercy stroke by Gulcasa to save him from a far longer and more painful death from blood loss. As it was, the magic in the Chains of Conviction had forced Nessiah through yet another agonizing reincarnation, bringing him back to life in record time in response to the call of the Gran Centurio.

Pulled by the sword, Nessiah had reappeared only hours after his apparent demise to rescue the Royal Army and Gulcasa from the angel who’d attacked them at Heaven’s Gate, holding her off long enough for another angel to intervene and stop the battle altogether. If it weren’t for him, everyone surely would have been killed—and so Nessiah was more or less accepted by everyone. However, there were only three people he was really close to: Kylier, Yggdra (who had also been able to feel the cry of his damaged soul through the Gran Centurio), and Gulcasa (who didn’t care whether Nessiah was human or a fallen angel and still considered him a friend).

Kylier bit her lip as she stared at the heavy stripes of dull pink scar tissue that stretched across Nessiah’s face, sealing his eyelids shut, and tried unsuccessfully not to wonder how he could possibly live with the memory of receiving his injury every day and stay sane. “…It looks kind of puffy already, but I don’t think it’ll get too bad. Looks like we got you out in time. I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. And thank you.”

“No charge.” And Kylier carefully locked the plates back in place.

“…………” Nessiah considered her for a moment. “I… might not be the right person to give you advice on this, because I’m not that much of a cook myself… but next time you might want to consider using grease.”

“Eh? Grease? What for?”

“If you grease the pan before you put food into it, it’ll both make it less likely to burn where the metal touches it, and make it easier to take out when you’re done.”

“Oh.” Now that Kylier heard it, it sounded so completely obvious that she couldn’t help blushing. With a moan, she slumped forward, resting her forehead on Nessiah’s shoulder. “I really suck at this. Why am I even trying? I’m never going to be able to make Milanor chocolate in time…”

“Don’t give up so easily, it’s not like you,” Nessiah told her, patting her hair. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was amused, though, which only made her feel worse. “Just take a deep breath and relax. Try again later. For now, throw out your failed experiment and come eat dinner with the rest of us.”

“Okay…” Kylier sighed and stood up straight. “I’ll be back in a sec.”

And I’ll be back for you, she thought at the kitchen, tomorrow. You and I ain’t done yet.

- - -

Meanwhile, Yggdra sat alone in her room, moving her pen down the line of checked-off names on her list.

“There!” she said, sitting back with a sigh. “Now, all that’s left is…”

She stared at the name that topped her list, and, blushing slightly, drew a circle around it.

“…Maybe I should focus on getting everyone else’s done first…”

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Yggdra called, turning in slight surprise.

The door opened, revealing her champion, the young knight Durant, who led the Royal Army’s cavalry. “Your Majesty—”

Yggdra shook her head. “Durant, there’s no need to stand on ceremony when it’s just the two of us. You’re my friend. You can call me by name.”

“There’s no time for that, Your Majesty,” Durant said impatiently, glancing behind him worriedly. “We need you right now. It’s Roswell. He’s downstairs in the bar, and…”

“Oh, Durant…” Yggdra sighed, then frowned as the rest of his sentence sank in. “Wait. Roswell… in the bar? Why? Roswell doesn’t drink. He never drinks. He always says he can’t hold his liquor at all.”

“He’s drinking now,” Durant told her helplessly, throwing up his hands. “He seems depressed, but he won’t say what’s wrong. He’ll talk to you. He trusts you. Please, Your Majesty, do something…”

“This is definitely a problem,” Yggdra admitted, standing up. “Please take me to him… I just hope I can help with whatever’s bothering him…”

“Right away,” Durant agreed, and began to lead her down the hall.

:TBC:

~Notes on the text~

Rosary’s little rant: The circumstances surrounding the Verlaine battle and the reasons why both Roswell and Rosary survived will be more clearly disclosed later on, although you can pretty much get some of it from what Rosary says here about Leon’s involvement.

Girls who can’t cook: The stereotype in America, Japan, and many other cultures is that women are supposed to have great culinary talent while men aren’t good at cooking at all, so romance manga and romantic comedies often make their heroine an awful chef to parody the common view. Why? It’s cute watching them stress over making their boyfriends (and/or girlfriends, sometimes) a home-cooked meal.

Nessiah: Yes, this is why he’s living here with everyone rather than still waiting to come back to life again. The Heaven’s Gate battle differs vastly in this version of events from those in the game; more details may or may not come to light in future chapters. As a side note, though Milanor and Rosary are still highly pissed at him, Nietzsche and Roswell have both more or less forgiven him for his involvement in the civil wars in Embellia and Verlaine because he saved everyone’s lives in the final battle.

Wait… Gulcasa… with the Royal Army…?: Only on a temporary basis. This would involve how the Battle of Flarewerk was resolved, and why Gulcasa is even alive right now in the first place. Which will again be explained later.

“You don’t need to stand on ceremony when it’s just the two of us”: After finally getting Elena to stop using the suffix “-sama” for everyone, Yggdra is now trying to get Durant to act less formally, with little success.

Roswell can’t hold his liquor: There are some 21-year-olds who just should not drink. Ever. Especially when they’re depressed. Why? You’ll see… Roswell has a fairly frail constitution for a man, so he’s pretty much blitzed after imbibing nearly any amount of alcohol. Drinking is just one of a number of things he can’t do, like go out in summer without long sleeves. In addition to not being the hardiest person on the planet, Roswell sunburns very easily (how could he not, with that fair skin?)… and therefore he always winds up with a fever when he does… well, I digress, but low tolerance to alcohol is one of Roswell’s sort-of secret weaknesses. (Any kind of weakness in a guy who’s calm, cool, and intellectual really adds to his appeal… it just makes him that much cuter. /shot)

Title: Probably should’ve mentioned this last time, but “Stupid Cupid” is actually the title of an old silly Valentine’s Day song. It seemed a little appropriate, considering the content of the story…

[Dr Strum]

» Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «

Nessiah cannot come back. Nessiah is dead forever as the first picture shows. And, before you say "zomg thats japanese doesn't count" the English version is a metaphor. He was judged and punished by the Gran Centurio. Justice lies with the Holy Sword, and all that jazz.

(A side note, this is not the only instance of a weird and unnecessary translation - the "Ankh Cannons" in Verlaine were merely Ankhs in the Japanese version, the Ankh Cannon being Eudy's invention for BF43; a fusion of them.)
That brings me to my next point. What the hell is the single-Ankh-firing thing all about? It was clearly two Ankhs, unless this is another point where you rape the original story (a completely unnecessary one, if so.)

You also go and use two completely contradictory ideas; the canonical fact that what we see in the game is not Nessiah's real body (though it does not lie in Ancardia) and your made up idea that he was blinded by an injury to the eyes of his FAKE body. There's also the aspect of the mask being taken off, which can't be done except by the Gran Centurio, or, I suppose, the Gods that set it upon him.[/quote]

~~~

Писатель всегда будет в оппозиции к политике, пока сама политика будет в оппозиции к культуре.

[Suzu Fujibayashi]

Again, I liked it. The reasons behind certain characters being not dead is a little farfetched, but it's better then 'lulz they just all came back lifez.'

» Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «

Although Kylier's is by far the most farfetched.

Plus Kylier's inability to cook was kinda funny...

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Man that's a total irony for Nessiah there. Being killed by the sword he made and being pwned by the phrase he made. Gotta suck for him. <_<
Although I'd assume he's 'alive' in the sense his soul would live. He'd just not have a body, otherwise what's with that comment that seems to imply that he'll see if Yggdra can live up to what she says? I dunno, that's my own interpertation.

I think you typoed, since Nessiah's real body does lay in Ancardia. I think. I'm too lazy to turn on my DS and check...

Now I shall wait for the next chapter. o:

On an offtopic note, I'd post my own little V-Day special fanfic but, it's like too out of character I think so... Yeah. Moving on.

[Megaolix]

As funny as always.

» Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «

By the way, is there anyone else who's still alive? We still haven't heard of Emilia (but I'm sure you kept her alive), Baldus and Eudy.

And why the hell did they choose to fight the Archangel? That would make no sense if Yggdra wanted peace at that point.

And Sturm, if every fanfic followed exactly what they are based off, they would start to get boring.

[Dr Strum]

» Click to show Spoiler - click again to hide... «

I think you typoed, since Nessiah's real body does lay in Ancardia.

Right, that's why he said "below." Oh wait-

And Sturm, if every fanfic followed exactly what they are based off, they would start to get boring.

No, it would just stop the non-creative people from writing.

[Raijinili]

You mean if they were forced to?

I don't agree with that. It would require people to actually know all relevant aspects of a story. This doesn't imply extra creativity.

[Dr Strum]

No, making an interesting story while following the guidelines set by the original writers is what would require extra creativity.

[Raijinili]

Key word being "interesting". There's no guarantee of "interesting".